


The Origin of Dusk

by brasspetal



Series: Dusk Verse [1]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dark, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasy, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Some angst, Vampire!Silver, Violence, hinted Max/Eleanor, inspired by a mixture of myths, mentions of past character death, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:12:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal/pseuds/brasspetal
Summary: John Silver is a vampire that lives a solitary life in the wilderness until he comes across a wounded man that disrupts the peace.





	1. Husks

Down the hill, below the river, there is a house made of twigs. The mud collects on the edges of the property from murky rain showers. It suffocates the surrounding forest.

The house is lit up in the gloom only by a single candle flickering in the window to welcome the oncoming shadows.

There is a path of stone buried partially in the dirt like a ruin that leads to the front door. The twigs that wrap the house in a nest are like old brittle bones.

There are things that sleep in this place, lost between the banishment of the mists.  

Even the vegetation grows crooked in the mud here but it is where he belongs, someplace perpetually dim.

There are wicker baskets hanging above his head that contain butterfly weed and Beebalm. He used to tie them around his wrist as if to ward off a new doom. He’s been delicate with this place because of what it has afforded him, because of its acceptance to outcasts.

He lives between blinks for the split second of darkness when the lashes meet and when he wakes the birds are silent.

It is a solitary existence that he has resigned himself to and it is not without its trappings. He had to travel to hamlets that dot the hills like a creature pulled from the night. He has observed how the others live within each other, around each other but never facing one another. They are all perpetually turned away uninterested in seeing beyond the veil.

John Silver knew how to persuade and relay his lies like a fresh flame but he’s grown tamer over the last decade. He observes more than converses and they appear like shadows to him anyway. One face becomes familiar and then time replaces them.

They are all sleepwalkers, like shadows in the dimmed lantern light. When one disappears into the night another is put in his place once more. He recognizes the pattern and keeps his distance. He waits for one to wander and then he takes what is necessary; what is vital. This is not pleasure, this is not violence, this is a clinical necessity. It is a gift that he has evolved into not requiring sustenance as much as he used to.

There’s a whisper when he shuts his eyes and he dreams of his bones being taken. One by one. There’d be a smile then, a smile made from him, of all the skeletons he’s given.

The flowers were a different offering. He’d take the stems and crush them with his teeth. He’d spit them at his feet but the petals would be placed in his hair. They’d sink in their own nest and shrivel. He’d always wake up with the carcasses leftover. He’d let them fall from him on their journey back to the mud.

He recognizes that he is a spider lurking in an old web.

A hunter strayed too far into the woods and he wandered lost in the gloom. Silver rested the torn hood of a dusty cloak over his head and he greeted him with deadly precision.

This is how things are and he spends most days speaking with empty chairs. Not from madness but from conjured memories. He’s not even sure if they are his any longer. One childhood erased and then another. Was he dancing in the puddle during a storm? Or was he chasing a butterfly into a cave? Are those his memories?

He wants to believe they belong to him. So, he speaks to the empty chair beside the hearth and says, “I nearly drowned when I was a boy and no one was there to save me but myself.”

It could be true.

He imagines there are tales spun about a darkness in the woods, _him_. Snatching people into the void but he is no more a leader of the abyss than those husks that populate the hovels.

They close their eyes before they are given the chance to see and he’s content with the distance he creates.

At least he was content until a seemingly ordinary day brings forth rain to put him in a foul mood.

Things irrevocably change after this day; this ordinary day.

He steps through the mud, splashing it across his cloak. His hood is sunken wetly to his head and the curls that peak out become soaked and stick to his skin. He carries the wooden pail gently in his fingers.

The rain isn’t heavy enough to collect quick enough and he journeys to the stream that isn’t far from his hut of twig to fetch water.

The stream is furious this day, consuming the flooded rainwater. He could close his eyes and match the rush to his own muted rage without a whisper. The thought of becoming a statue remains tempting as he kneels in the mud and rests the pail inside the rushing clear stream. He watches it fill with disinterest and glances up as a flock of birds take flight from their perch high in the dark trees.

He notices the change in the air first. It’s almost as though something had been erased from the landscape but he couldn’t figure out what. The thought is unsettling and he searches the shadows made by the woods ahead of him into that nothingness.

He recognizes the anomaly when he spots what appears to be a man lying partially in the stream while the other half of him sinks in the mud.

He isn't moving and he could very well be dead. Silver slowly stands and leaves the pail on the shore. He calls to the stilled body but he doesn’t stir.

A chill catches his face in a caress and he slowly approaches the body from the other side of the stream.

“Poor bastard,” Silver says softly but did he feel pity? He wants to feel pity but there’s a numbness like ice frozen over thoughts unable to properly thaw. There’s an eternal winter inside of him.

He steps through the stream with his boots and nears the man whose face is turned against the mud lying on his stomach.

The man is young enough, well built, with red hair that is covered in mud and obscures part of his pale face. Silver shoves him with his boot but there is no response.

He glances around him, taking in his surroundings, listening to the crack of twigs from animals scurrying away. There is no one else around.

Silver crouches beside the man and whispers, “what happened to you?”  

He listens closely, tilting his head when he recognizes an echoing heartbeat in his ears. Although it's faint he can hear it.

He’s alive.

He could finish whatever it was that was done to this man and bury him in the clearing of blooming orchids but he hesitates with this thought.

What did it matter?

He reaches out carefully, resting his hand on his shoulder and shoves him over onto his back. The red hair slips from his eyes revealing lashes that kiss the beginning of freckled cheekbones. He had the look of a gentleman and yet he’s dressed like a farmer.

There is something that doesn’t match up as if he isn’t quite seeing something that is already there.

He notices the torn slice in the man’s shirt where a knife slashed his abdomen. Someone has done this to him and perhaps he had fled but to make it to the veil, his veil seems a grand feat.

Silver reaches his finger out to swipe at a drop of blood that nearly evaporates into his skin. He tastes it but the blood reveals nothing of this man. It is not always the case when he can read someone this way. In this instance, he is simply closed off from him and from the veil.  

The question still remains, a question that shouldn’t be a question at all. Yet it plagued him and he found that fascinating. It was a new feeling, a spark of something he hasn’t felt since those dark and dormant memories encased in ice. Was this the small part of his humanity? Which is much like the distant buzz of quiet insects.

He smiles to himself a little cruelly and considers leaving him to the wolves but he recognizes the weight of the inevitable and this isn’t it. There is a choice here.

It's been awhile since he’s had company or visitors; visitors he hadn’t slain to give him silence.

What would it hurt? To give himself a temporary ear.

He grabs the man's arms from the dried leaves and begins to drag him messily through the mud. He pulls him like a sled along the sloping stream and makes a note that he’d come back for the pail of water later.

He spots the flash of a glow, a pair of eyes in the distant dark and Silver says quietly, “not this one.”

The eyes stalk in a pattern without growing nearer and Silver continues the comfortable drag of the body towards the center of his web.

He pushes his creaky door open and pulls him over the threshold. He lets him rest on the red weave of the rug. He isn’t going to put him in his bed. He doesn’t know this man and he could’ve deserved this fate. 

It’s in Silver’s mind that one must earn anything beyond the ground. This man hasn’t earned anything yet. The fact that he is dying doesn’t give him dominion.

Silver removes his cloak and rests it on a hook of bone before he kneels beside the silent man as if he’s about to pray. He lifts the man's shirt to peer curiously at the festering wound. It would be infected soon.

He could sit and watch such a thing occur. Perhaps the man would wake and beg for relief but what then?

What has men like him ever afforded Silver but misery?

This spite that burned a snake into his skin is archaic, unspeakable but ever-present. It’s become a part of him whether he fully acknowledges it or not.

He is a creature, not one of them.

He collects bundled herbs from his drawers and grounds them with a pestle. He can hear the crunching of heavy paws outside his hut like Cerberus pulling at an invisible chain. He gathers the herbs in a pink cloth that he stole from a clothing line and kneels again beside the wounded man.

He spends the next hour filling the gash with his concoction. It’s a simple mix of healing herbs that he learned long ago from someone who only resides in memory. It would have to suffice and if the man dies from his wounds then he will leave him for the darklings.

He stands and wipes his palms together with a sigh. The scratch of the paws and a huff of breath remind him that it’s time.

He gathers slices of meat that rest in a basket on the table and opens his front door. The meat is cool against his palm as he kneels respectfully in the dirt in front of his hut and holds out his hand to the growing shadow.

Many have said that there is a Goddess that lives in these woods and Silver thinks he’s lucky enough to have found her. The glow of eyes blink closer until her large paws are visible in the grey shift of the sunless day.

“For you, my friend,” Silver comments with a sly smile and the creature that resembled a large dark furred wolf takes the offering gently from his hand with its teeth.

It slinks gracefully back into the shape of the trees and snapping twigs like cracking bones force him back inside his abode. There are things out there even he wishes not to contend with. He’s perfectly well keeping to himself.

He stands above the man who still remains sleeping, perhaps forever and yet the notion nags at him. Curiosity is now more overpowering than the comfort of apathy. Why this man? Who was he? Why was he here of all places?

Once, long ago, John Silver would have drained him until his heart stopped and be done with it but he feels withered from that old cruelty. He’s been many selves through time. He is none of them now but all of them at once. How did that happen?

He grabs a rope from the table and ties the man’s wrists to the iron edges of the fireplace. It would be enough in case he wishes to escape and Silver can sleep comfortably.

He climbs into his bed and shuts his eyes until moonlight falls on him. He usually senses it like a cold hand against his cheek; his invisible mother.

It’s around the time when he’s redressing the man’s wound with a fresh bandage that he begins to stir. Silver slowly steps back with his head tilted in curiosity. He watches him subconsciously struggle against the rope and then the release of breath. His chest heaves as his eyes blink open and attempt to focus. His eyes frantically search the ceiling as he rips at the rope and then he halts in suspicious surprise when he sees Silver.

The moonlight displays over them both and the warm glow of the candles in the corner is enough light to gain an understanding.

“What the hell is this? Where am I?” The man barks and then pulls at the rope futilely.

Silver gives him a smile in return, amused by his effort.

“I was hoping you could tell me. I found you wounded by the stream near to my home. It’s rare when someone dares to travel this way unless they have a purpose,” Silver relays with suspicions of his own.

The man struggles angrily before glancing down at his bandaged side and rewards Silver with a dark glare, “I don’t know. I don’t remember. Why have you tied me?”

“Because I don’t trust you. It’s simple really. You’re welcome for saving your life by the way,” Silver replies with irritation.

“Release me! Now!” The man exclaims and he snarls at him.

The fury alight in those green eyes gives Silver pause. He could release him but what then? The man could tell others about this place and Silver enjoys this dark wood far too much to leave it just yet.

“I can’t. Not yet. You must understand?” Silver inquires politely and the man finally studies him through his anger. His eyes roam over Silver’s shadowed form. Was there something beyond that anger? Something old? He’s on to something but he isn’t sure what yet.

“Are you a witch of some sort?” The man’s words are whip-quick. He isn’t fearful of Silver which also intrigues him. Most people scream and toss out insults if they are brave enough through that fear but not him. There is a quiet simmer of something dark in this man.

“Afraid not, although I knew one. People like you had her burned,” Silver replies bluntly and he watches the man blanch against the confession. The anger became more subdued; held back by a leash.

“People like me?” The man’s tone still holds the seething from earlier.

“People like you, the husks that take things without permission,” Silver rewards him with his opinion and expects more backlash but he doesn’t receive any.

This man isn’t a farmer even though he’s dressed like one. He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing but how that pertains to him remains a mystery.

“Are you to kill me then?” The man asks calmly, ready to bravely accept his fate.

“That remains to be seen within the coming days and who knows…we might be friends by then,” Silver comments with a wide shark-like smile.

The man squints at him as if he’s gone mad and pulls at the ropes that bound his wrists once more.

“Are you hungry?” Silver asks eerily nonchalant and grabs his cloak from the bone hook.

“Who are you?” The man demands, his anger boils to the surface again.

Silver huffs a small amused laugh and slips his cloak over his shoulders before he turns around to present himself again for inspection. Those eyes roam over him with a different darker purpose. It’s almost visible to him but not quite.

“I’m no one,” He answers before stepping out of his front door with a satisfied smirk.

To live under the veil one must provide offerings to the woods, one must make themselves useful to the dark. It is a dance of symbiosis and this place holds the last pieces of his heart.

The stranger is a threat to it and yet he cannot bring himself to bring a blade down, to wrap his teeth over his throat to pierce the skin. His darkness is different from Silver’s but it’s there all the same and is this not a place for outcasts?

He’ll listen to his silence and unearth what lies hidden in plain sight.


	2. Fool's Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silver attempts to coax Flint into making an offering.

The ancient tree with its roots cracking apart the dirt weave themselves into the clearing.

In the half-moonlight Silver stands at the precipice of it. His dark hood shadows his face. The large branches above carry thick muted dark green leaves that reach out to the sky in supplication. Ornaments made from all manner of things hang to dangle amongst the branches as offerings.

Silver respectfully approaches the towering oak tree and rests the palm of his hand to the bark. If he closes his eyes he can feel its heartbeat beneath his skin.

“I have an offering,” he says softly and then produces a necklace woven in bone from the inside of his cloak. He strung all of the pieces together precisely over the course of the year and now he hangs it gently from a thick branch. He can almost sense the quiet intake of breath from the silent leaves.

There’s a new smell in the air he doesn’t recognize, something foul, misplaced. Something like the sweat of a nervous fool. An imposter.

He surveys his surroundings and steps back from the shadow of the tree unafraid of remaining out in the open. Was it another Hunter come for him?

“I can smell you,” Silver announces and then a twig snaps to his right. He remains still and doesn’t follow the bait.

He doesn’t have the need to chase after fools on borrowed time. These woods will devour him soon enough.

There is ritual beyond the offering. He is this forest and this forest is him. He’s let the vines claim his skin and to sever them would surely mean his death.

Is this his weakness then? To attach himself to something, a place where he rests his thoughts?

There’s a howl far off into the mist and he smells blood pooling into the earth. A small smile forms on his face as he continues his stroll back to his hut. It’s a sacrifice, a new offering of its own. Fool's blood has a sweet tang to it. It isn’t his favorite.

He steps inside the cool dark hut and immediately spots the man who sits up against the fireplace with his hands still tied. His red hair is falling over his right eye and he has the image of a feral creature backed into a corner.

Silver blossoms a wider smile just for him as he shuts the door behind him. He removes his cloak deliberately slow and hangs it beside the door.

“The fool outside. I could smell him. Was he one of yours?” Silver questions and Flint glares at him darkly for a long moment.

“One of mine?”

Silver nods, “yes, one of your husks, looking for you? Perhaps it was the deviant that wounded you?”

Flint’s anger remains but his expression changes, signaling he’s mildly open to conversation rather than on the attack.

“Did you see him?” Flint asks.

Silver gives him a quick huff of a laugh before he bends down to light up the fireplace. The flame in his hands connects with the wood and he watches it eat away the bark.

He can tell by the way the man huddles that he’s cold but he won’t dare let such a thing be known.

“So, you _do_ remember?” Silver concludes.

“How long am I to remain here?” The man asks as the wood sparks becoming more engulfed. Their exchange of questions dances around like the flames.

“What should I call you? I’ve had many names but the one I have retired with is Silver.”

“Flint,” the man answers quick and Silver is pleased with the small cooperation.

“How fitting,” he replies and slides his eyes to the crackling fire.

“What happened to the fool?” Flint questions, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

“The darklings devoured him, I felt him die. One must pay their way to remain here. One must harbor respect for the dark,” Silver comments and Flint studies the shadows created by the flame across Silver’s features.

“There will be others looking for me. Why not release me? I cannot provide you with anything.”

“If I cut your binds and let you run free what do you think will happen? Do you think this forest…these shadows…will let you leave? After you’ve been given life once again without an offering in return? You would die if you left this hut,” Silver bluntly confesses.

Flint pulls at his binds once more stubborn in his fury and asks, “An offering?”

“This place is not selfless nor is it kind to those that do not give back,” Silver relays and lights a candle that rests against the window.

It’s raining outside. He can hear the soft patter of wet on leaves. The fog is settling in for the night.

“What am I offering?” Flint asks and he leans forward to catch his eyes in the candlelight.

“A piece of you,” Silver says quietly and runs his palm once over the flame.

“My soul? Then this is hell?”

Silver turns back to face him with the beginnings of a smile and replies, “it all depends on how you perceive it. It is what you make of it.”

“Why do you care then? Why not leave me to my fate?” Flint asks stoically.

The question is a simple one and yet Silver doesn’t have much of an answer for it. He needs company, an ear to listen to his prattling but beyond that, he can’t say. He hopes that not long from now he’ll grow bored with this bit of curiosity and put the man out of his misery.

Thunder rumbles loudly in the distance waking the beasts in the dark.

“I have this memory of being terrified of storms, of hiding beneath a blanket in my bed and yet now I don’t flinch. I welcome the cracking boom of the clouds. I’m never certain if the terror of the storm was ever really there or if that memory is mine to begin with,” Silver gives him a truth.   

He studies the dormant fury in Flint’s tightened shoulders and leans against the table while crossing his arms comfortably.

“How long have you been here?” Flint asks and he senses that nameless discomfort much like suspicion only honed.

Silver releases a small breath and replies, “I couldn’t say. I’ve lost track of time and it has lost track of me. Why exactly are you here?”

Flint’s eyes connect with his in an unreadable gaze briefly before searching the candlelight.

“I don’t share my woes with demons,” Flint snaps and Silver turns back to the table to grab a small wooden bowl of berries.

He carries it over to Flint who flinches in defense against Silver’s shadow. He sets the bowl down slowly in his lap and reaches for Flint’s wrist. Flint rewards him with a glare, the kind of glare meant for something inferior. He harbored a hate for Silver beyond his person, it is for his kind.

Silver unties one wrist to let it drop and says, “I suggest you eat.”

Flint makes no move to do so. He keeps his eyes fixed on Silver’s face. Their proximity is closer than they’ve been since he’s been awake.

Silver studies the green visible in his eyes from the warm glow of the fire beside them and says, “I’m leaving soon and I won’t be back until morning, so I suggest you eat.”

Flint remains still, he doesn’t comply nor does he speak. Their eyes are locked and Silver lets him attempt to ferret out his reasons, his truths.

Silver sits back with a sigh and Flint’s eyes refuse to leave him. There is a challenge there.

“You’re attempting to burden me with your hate and your judgment but I am afraid that means nothing to me,” Silver adds.

“I’m not accepting a goddamn thing from you,” Flint snarls shoving the berries angrily out of his lap and Silver eyes them as they roll across the floor haphazardly.

“Pacts are made with blood here not berries, it is the way of the old. I am merely extending a courtesy but I see you don’t respond well to pleasantries,” Silver moves quick in an instant, his forehead nearly touches Flint’s as he flinches back startled by the sudden action.

“You’ve already entered a pact with me when I saved your life. You had a choice when you chose to enter these woods. You were running from the husks,” Silver continues, his breath ghosting over Flint’s nose and Flint’s expression twitches with diluted awareness. 

His lips curl and he replies, “they will find me and attempt to burn this whole place down.”

That’s the truth of it. Flint himself and his pursuers underestimated the way of the wood. Those dark stories are true and there are more sharp edges to the shadows here that cut and shape those that pass.

Silver ties Flint’s loose hand tighter against the iron, watching the rope burn against his skin.

“Oh, I’ve become accustomed to fire,” Silver begins and stands walking over to the candle holder. He rests his fingers inside the flame keeping his eyes focused on Flint who appears wary of the result. Silver’s skin heals immediately from the burn once he pulls back. He continues with false pity because he has none to give, “you’ve brought this on yourselves. I’ve only ever saved one fool. The rest will scream in the dark because that is the way of things.”

“The way of things?” Flint asks and his blatant curiosity gives him a certain satisfaction.

“You’ve no idea what the forest houses here within it. I am merely an observer,” Silver replies and grabs his cloak again to slip over his shoulders.

“Where the fuck are you going?” Flint demands as if he has a right to.

“To clean up your mess,” Silver replies curtly and promptly opens the door.

 --

The spider that is John Silver finds a tree in the dark to climb and rests in the crook of a branch listening for heartbeats. He can hear them breathing in the leaves, and their loud feet crack twigs in their wake.

There are four in his vicinity which more than likely means a simple scouting party.

“No sign of the murderer…” one of them exclaims and Silver tilts his head with interest.

_Murderer._

There’s a howl that draws the attention of the husks below and collective nervous whispers are exchanged amongst them.

It isn’t long now.

Silver spots the dirt erupt around one of their ankles eliciting a yell of terror as the man is pulled under by a darkling born from the soil.

It’s suddenly chaos after that. They separate, running with frantic delirium until he hears a vicious growl. It cuts one of the voices silent from behind a canopy of brush. 

Silver jumps gracefully down from the branch behind one of the stumbling husks of men. The man falls in his breathy panic and Silver slowly walks towards the struggling Hunter.

Another scream is interrupted and silenced by the cracking of roots, which left this man. The only one left of his scouting party.

He spots Silver standing at his side and he holds his hands up in surrender, lying in the grass in fearful surprise.

“Please, I beg you,” he uselessly voices.

“I wonder if you’d afford me with mercy if the tables were turned?” Silver replies, smiling wide revealing his nature, “no. I don’t believe you would. You like fire too much.”

“I beg you! I ain’t done nothin’,” the man pleads with shaky hands.

“Tell me about the man you are after,” Silver questions and spots those familiar glowing eyes blink in the dark ahead of them.

“What man?”

Silver audibly sighs and pulls back the hood from his head.

“One more time. Tell me what you know about the man you are after,” Silver asks and his patience is wearing thin. He used to lack patience for anything but this veil has gifted him with time to ponder.

“James McGraw? He…..he murdered a lord, sir. There’s a bounty on him,” The man explains with wide-eyed terror.

“A lord?” Silver asks and releases a low chuckle.

James McGraw has found his darkness and named it Flint. Silver had been a witness to its conception and he’s now thoroughly fascinated by it.

“Ain’t here to disturb ya!” The man releases and whimpers when Silver steps slowly closer.

“Hunters are not bound by moral code. They kill and destroy anything that they deem different from themselves for profit, for fame. All you do is _disturb_ ,” Silver surmises and the man shakes his head at him.

“Please sir, I ain’t gonna bother ya. Let me live,” The man continues to plead lying pathetically in the grass.

“That isn’t up to me to decide, you’ve stepped through the mist of your own accord. Now, what was the name of this lord?” Silver inquires.

“If I tell ya, will ya let me live?”

“Again, that is not up to me,” Silver answers truthfully and the man turns back to the soil to attempt to crawl away into the brush. Silver lets him slither in the wet mud until the wolf made from the dark steps out of the trees.

Her paws rest in front of the terrified man who reels back at the sight, falling onto his elbows and attempting to back away with a yell. He runs into Silver’s boot and the man stares up him with wild panic.

Silver tilts his head down to him and asks politely, “what was the name of the lord?”

“Lord…Alfred Hamilton, sir please!”

Silver eyes the wolf who paces twice before disappearing back in the shadow. The veil demands blood and he is the deliverer.

Silver doesn’t prolong his suffering. He swiftly kneels and claims the man’s neck with his teeth. The struggle is momentary before the hands catching his clothes go limp.

He knew this man’s name; Owen. The blood gave him that.

The overpowering warmth that fills him from sating is utterly intoxicating and it is why he avoids it. The memory invokes the beast he could be. The terror he could unleash on those hovels burns like a shadowplay in the back of his mind.

He releases his grasp on a heaving breath and licks the quickly cooling liquid from his lips. He lifts his head to the sky in rapt delirium as he closes his eyes.

He listens to the cracking soil all around him and the whisper of the leaves.

\--

The moon is disappearing from its place in the sky. It leaves its throne for an invisible sun. The fog is thicker in the coming daylight as if it fights against the dawn. Silver can understand the struggle but in this place, the sun cannot touch him as long as he maintains the symbiosis.

He steps into the creaking door of the hut and the man is resting against the burned out fireplace. Silver can tell he’s awake by the intake of his breath.

He says nothing nor does he make a move to converse. He simply removes his cloak and lies down in his small bed.

“Are they dead?” Flint asks and he sounds oddly distant but hopeful.

“They are gone but it was just a scouting party. I suspect there will be more,” Silver vanishes the comfort and closes his eyes.

It’s when he is on the verge of drifting into nothingness when Flint asks, “can the sun harm you?”

He sounds curiously cautious and Silver blinks his eyes open again to focus on the ceiling.

“Yes but not here, not under the protection of the veil,” Silver admits and then all is silent.

Flint doesn’t speak again and Silver wonders what possessed this man in his fury to murder, to take. His anger is filled with passion. It is not a blooming rose but one of evisceration. He finds a comfort in that musing.

That day, Silver dreams for the first time in a decade. He dreams of descending in the darkness through decay with bones at his bare feet. They are sharp to his toes and his skin bends against them. He can see shapes in the dark unmoving and he hears from below, “down here.”

The voice is muffled and yet familiar. He follows it through tangled spiderwebs and the murky whispers like echoes.

“Down here.”

A bone pierces his skin.

\--

He awakes to thunder and the wind rattling the shutters. It’s dark, cold and damp like living between roots.

He sits up carefully to observe Flint watching the patterns of lightning flash across the walls.

“There was someone at the door,” Flint supplies and Silver squints as he stands from the bed. They exchange quick glances as he opens the door to the wet wind. Stuck to the front of the door is a leaf and he pulls it from the wood. On the underside of it is a circular symbol burned into it.

He shuts the door against the storm and meets Flint’s eyes once again.

“They require an offering from you,” Silver says and watches Flint’s jaw clench as he swallows.

“They?”

Silver answers, “Those of the dark.”

“And if I do not comply with them?” Flint grits and Silver senses that slow boil of anger.

“Then you can take your chances trying to escape,” Silver replies and Flint shakes his head with a bitter smile.

“Where is the choice?” Flint asks.

“You had several. The first being that you chose to kill Lord Alfred Hamilton which led you here,” Silver bluntly releases and he watches Flint’s cautious demeanor fall away to something feral.

“You spoke to one of the men,” Flint gathers and his voice is dangerously low.

“The dark doesn’t need your reasons, you were clearly meant to stumble here.”

Flint shifts, pulling his wrists tight against the rope and says, “I don’t belong here.”

“If that is your final decision then I will cut you loose and send you on your way,” Silver states and he expects an immediate confirmation but he doesn’t receive one.

A loud crash of thunder booms and a downpour begins outside. He can hear the water soaking up the mud.

Flint tears at his binds, releasing his anger against the rope as lightning flashes between them, giving the dark new shapes. Silver lights a candle in the gloom and observes Flint's shadow like a transformation.

“The embrace of this forest is worth it,” Silver says and Flint ignores him as his sets his forehead against his tied wrists.

He found he didn’t mind Flint's company but the decision isn’t his to make. If he harbors him while he refuses an offering then Silver may be banished from this respite as well and he will not chance that for anything.

Flint speaks quietly, “what does the offering entail?”

“A piece of you.”

Flint lifts his head and with a snarl says, “no more vagaries.”

“Your blood,” Silver quickly answers and Flint’s heated glare remains.

“I’m not giving you my blood,” he replies and Silver huffs as he locks the shutters above the table.

“I don’t want your blood.”

But was that a lie? If he closes his eyes he can listen to Flint’s heartbeat.

Silver continues, “I would take you to the offering tree, you would open your palm to the Earth.”

“Then I may leave?” Flint asks and Silver grabs the small bowl of berries once again to rest them in Flint’s lap.

“You should eat,” Silver supplies and Flint ignores the bowl too focused on Silver’s lack of response.

“Then I may leave?” He repeats, harsher.

Silver takes a moment as he leans towards the flickering candle, listening to the soft rain envelope the hut in a comforting shell.

“You will be bound here as I am,” he answers and blinks at the candle as he listens to the angry push and pull of the rope.

“I cannot and will not be bound to anything, you will not hold me here!” Flint yells above the crash of thunder.

“Out there, what did that world hold for you? Those men want to see you swing for what you’ve done and this one has given you another chance to live as Flint. To live beyond James McGraw.” Silver speaks to the flame.

Flint’s futile struggle fades at the mention of his name and Silver turns to face him, seeing the solemn downturn gaze only meant for the shadows.

Silver reaches for the dagger resting on the table next to the pestle and walks over to the silence between them. He grips Flint’s raw wrists as he glances up at Silver; the fury is a dim note.

“You can run or you could face them,” Silver says softly and begins to cut the thick rope.

“Where is this?” Flint asks. The uncertainty riddles his features.

“Home, for me,” Silver punctuates as he releases his wrists.  

Flint rubs at the purpled skin absently in thought.

“Take some time if you wish but soon you must choose,” Silver replies and steps back to light a fire.

The wind howls swallowing them up and the deep dark beneath the Earth twists with the promise of a new shadow.

But it is only a moment later when he’s suddenly shoved against the wall forcefully and the knife is now pressed against his throat. Flint’s enraged face nearly brushes his and Silver can’t help but give him a wide welcoming smile.

“I recognize your tricks. You will not have me,” Flint growls and presses the blade deeper into Silver’s skin.

“Go ahead. Make your cut,” Silver rasps and he could easily push Flint back with such a strength but he refrains. He lets Flint have his rage and use it on him like a catcher of lightning.

He can feel the blade burn and release a droplet of blood that connects with Flint’s fingers. They share the air between them and Silver gains far more enjoyment from peering inside those irises filled with an unmasked fury.

He observes Flint search his face, on the verge of tearing the blade across his skin and Silver bares his throat to him, lifting his head to the ceiling and inviting him to do so.

Silver can feel Flint’s heavy breath caress his adam’s apple before he suddenly breaks away and the door to the rainstorm is flung open. He sets his fingers to the healing cut and tastes the blood left over on his tongue.

He moves to stand in the doorway overlooking the angry gust of wind and sideways rain. He could remain shut in his abode as a farewell to the newly formed shadow named Flint or he could follow him into the fury of the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next you will find out more about Flint's past! Thank you for reading :)


	3. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shaky pact for revenge is formed.

The storm quieted to a hushed wind. The rain still pattered lightly tapping the dead leaves.

Flint bursts through the brush, his feet smack the mud as his chest heaves with disorientation. Hasn’t he come this way already?

It feels as though he’s been running for days. His legs ache from the effort of it and the fury has embedded itself beneath his skin like a permeant scar.

He let that demon get inside his head and rearrange his thoughts. The delirium of it is lasting like a disconnected haze. It is as though the longer he remains here, the tether to his world, his old life, frays.

He is unraveling and raving.

He stumbles into a new clearing he’s yet to explore and he spots the large ancient oak tree with its roots erupting from the earth like tentacles. Part of the tree is blackened from an old lightning strike from long ago; its very own scar.

He skirts around the clearing afraid to expose himself.

There are trinkets hanging from the tree branches. Hundreds of them. Some are skulls, human skulls, others are ornaments and wooden spoons with ribbons tied around them. They clink softly in the wind with its own language. Flint thinks this is the offering tree that Silver spoke of.

He’s about to turn back into the darkness of the woods when he spots a figure step out into the clearing. He leans quietly against a tree trunk, staying clear of the strip of moonlight dancing against the fireflies.

The figure is wearing a crimson cloak that drags behind them in the wet leaves as they near the tree. Their face is shadowed and he’s unable to see it in the darkness beyond the moon.

He observes them reach up into a low hanging branch and take what appears to be a necklace. They remove their hood revealing blonde hair tied back in a loose braid.

She places the necklace over her head to rest against her throat and speaks, “you’re lucky I am in the mood to listen. Why don’t you step out and introduce yourself?”

Flint flinches against those words and releases a small breath of agitation.

He grips the dagger he took from Silver and knows if he attempts to run it won’t end well for him.

The mist blocks his path before he finally steps out beyond it, glancing once at the eerily tall silent tree.

The woman in the red cloak with the hood at her shoulders turns to face him. She appears fairly young with porcelain skin but he knew that is an illusion. Beneath those eyes there lies something darker, much like Silver’s young face held, a weariness of age and long spent youth.

He observes the bone necklace she’s wearing that she took from the tree as if it were a gift for her.

“Well, I can see why he wished to collect you as a keepsake. I felt you enter these woods. The one that spilled blood for vengeance,” She says and studies his face with mild interest.

He suspects maintaining her interest is the only way to survive this encounter.

“You are the one that left that message at the door?” Flint asks and peers into the dark trees behind her. He knows slipping away from her would be near impossible.

“I left the message but I was speaking for her,” she says and turns to gesture to the darkness which lights up with two eyes like candles.

Flint’s first instinct is to run but he backs away slowly as his feet drag in the mud. The woman smiles cruelly and says, “you were trying to leave without payment.”

“You can’t have my soul,” Flint replies resolutely and he sees a spark alight in her eyes.

“Are you enamored with that world? Those men that clearly have attempted your destruction. One you still fight?” She asks curiously amused.

“This place is not natural. It is not made of this world and I do not wish to know how deep these roots go,” Flint’s admission rings hollow and the meaning forms a new lie.

“You’re a liar, Mr. McGraw,” She says and he twitches at the mention of his name. She notices his subtle disgust and runs her fingers over the sharp edge of her necklace of bone.

“Let me pass,” he insists.

“I think you’ve already laid to rest that part of yourself and all that’s left is the dark. We’ve all been witness to rebirth,” She replies and he grips the dagger tighter at his side.

A low growl echoes from behind him and he realizes the wolf has circled the clearing to mark his back. She’d been distracting him but what could he have done? He was dead the moment he began conversing with her.

“This is it then. I have met my end,” Flint surmises and her eyes dull with disinterest.

“You made your choice, Mr. McGraw,” She states and the growling grows closer. It’s deeply vicious and makes his nerves ring.

“Eleanor!” A voice calls out from the forest and Flint turns his attention to the figure appearing out of the woods. Silver’s cloak rests at his shoulders and his hair is disheveled from the wet gale.  

“I don’t care how much you enjoy playing with your food, Silver. This one will not adhere to the rules,” she speaks plainly.

Flint watches the wolf in its large beastly form circle carefully around Silver, surveying him. Silver remains irritatingly calm and he glances at Flint with a secretive smirk.

“Let me take him to the Merewood,” Silver suggests and Flint attempts to step back a pace. The beast of a wolf turns quickly with a snarl.

“If I refuse?” Flint stubbornly questions and ignores the drum of something nameless when Silver glares at him.

“If you do then you will be torn to shreds and given to the tree. You would be an offering,” Silver replies blinking at him in the dark.

“The offer Silver presents you with is underserved but it is not mine to make,” Eleanor adds and she appears finished with this conversation.  

Wherever this Merewood is, it will buy him more time. More time away from the wolf and that’s enough for now.

Flint nods once and Eleanor sighs in disappointment.

Silver lifts the hood of the cloak over his head and begins to walk towards the darkened pathway beyond the thick trees. Flint slowly follows with the dagger still snuggly in his hand at his side.

“You won’t need the dagger, not if you aren’t a threat to the veil,” Silver calls from the front and Flint watches his slender muddy boots traverse a fallen log with ease.

Flint quickens his pace and catches up with the lithe fiend. “Why the hell do you care that I am accepted here?”

They walk side by side and Silver glances at him from beneath the shadow of his hood that obscures half of his face. The half that is lit up by the moonlight, shines like a glow over his skin. The blue of his visible eye is filled with curiosity.

“You know darkness. You killed Alfred Hamilton and you accepted it then. I imagine the acceptance was an easy one since I sense no guilt for the crime you committed?” Silver inquires and Flint has an urge to admit to things he’s yet to realize himself.

“Are you using your tricks?” Flint questions because the lightheaded thrall to keep moving forward feels foreign but the need is there.

“The only way you will remain here is by your will, not mine. I merely want to show you a deeper kind of darkness,” Silver openly persuades and Flint is suspicious of his sincerity.

“What does this require of me?” Flint asks attempting to appear stoic as if the words Silver spoke didn’t attach themselves to his shoulders like knives.   

“Those men that are after you will come back and I propose that we end them all,” Silver offers and grants Flint a dark grin.

Flint slides his eyes back to the tall trees ahead that appear like giants. He feels tight in his skin as if he’s borrowing someone else’s. The offer is tantalizing and Flint wishes for a strength against it.

Silver says softly, “You want to say yes, I can hear your heartbeat quickening.”

“Don’t do that,” Flint snaps.

“Listen to your heartbeat? Not something I can help I’m afraid. I still hear the pattern of it when you pressed the blade to my neck,” Silver replies truthfully and Flint dislikes the smoothness of his tone.

“What exactly are your reasons?” Flint prods and Silver shakes his head.

“My reasons are my own,” Silver replies simply.

“Fair enough,” Flint concedes and he lets himself fall into step with the amiable vampire. 

The trek takes them through forgotten swamplands that have aged in decay. Something in the dark flaps against the trees like bats. However, he suspects they aren’t something of the natural world but the likeness gives him a false comfort beyond fear.

A dark shape swims beneath the diluted water when they cross a rotting bridge. He avoids staring at his reflection too long, afraid it will leap out at him and attempt to replace him.

“We will slay the men only if you make an offering to the Merewood,” Silver says and he walks ahead of him expecting protest.

Flint wishes to snipe at him but he’s grown weary. Instead, he says nothing and walks onward knowing he’s trapped in an embrace. A trap he set for himself and yet he is railing against the acceptance of it.

His rage is asking for more blood and this creature wishes to deliver it.

\--

Silver’s boots crunch against the crumbled soil where he suspects bones once rested. He can hear them whispering with Flint behind him unknowing to their plight. Silver always listens.

He’s surprised Flint hasn’t attempted to plant the dagger in his back, he’s given him plenty of opportunity and even hoped for it. Although, he knew his cooperation is better for them both. It didn’t stop him from resting his hand absently against his neck in memory. It has been some time since he’s felt such a heartbeat so close to his that he hasn’t snuffed out.

The Merewood rests on a shadowed hill above them and the tree itself is a skeleton long dead but living like the rest of this landscape. It’s hollowed out. There are holes inside the bark and the branches entwine around each other like a rope. It’s breathtakingly bleak with the backdrop of the grey fog collecting around it.

They approach cautiously because Silver always likes to be respectful with careful steps where old Gods might slumber.

“Nothing divine comes from that,” Flint comments when he walks up beside him as they observe the skeleton tree.

Silver runs his tongue over his teeth and tosses Flint a smile, “are you searching for Divinity?”

“You want me to offer myself to that?” Flint asks, pointing his head at the tree in fearful suspicion.

“It’s been some time since I offered my respect and you can observe. It is simple,” Silver reassures and holds his palm out for Flint to give him the dagger he gripped tightly.

“I’m not giving you the dagger.”

“The dagger is mine. It was given to me by my dear friend that burned,” Silver snippily admits and he watches with satisfaction as some of the suspicion in Flint’s eyes tames itself.

Flint looks down at the dagger in his palm as if seeing it for the first time.

Silver continues, “it will not save you or protect you if you wish to disrespect this wood.”

Flint swallows softly and then meets Silver’s eyes, “I knew a creature like you. It stole the face of someone I cared for.”

Silver squints at him and Flint presses the hilt of the dagger into Silver’s open palm; gifting it back to him.

“We do not steal faces, Flint. The one you cared for was still the one you cared for and that is what the husks never understood. Even if they became something of the dark, they still carried the same memories,” Silver replies softly.

“Do your ritual,” Flint advises and Silver grips the hilt.

He slices the sharp edge of it across his palm and kneels in the shifting soil in front of the Merewood. He presses his palm into the earth before the wound heals and lets the dirt soak up his blood. He closes his eyes and feels a soft chilled breeze caress his cheeks like fingers.

“It could swallow us whole if it wished,” Silver says wistfully to the night and he hears the tell-tale crunch of Flint’s boots stand beside him. He doesn’t kneel but Silver can feel his reluctance giving way to curiosity.

“Cut my hand and press it into the dirt?” He asks and Silver nods once.

He holds the dagger above him from his kneeling position and feels Flint take it from him once again.

“Those men…they will meet their end if I do this?”

“Yes, you and I will lure them here,” Silver replies truthfully.

Without opening his eyes or witnessing the act, Silver smells his blood when Flint opens his skin with the blade and feels him press his palm into the dirt.

After a moment of shared breathing between them in the quiet of the hill, Silver opens his eyes to a murder of crows taking flight. He stands from the soil and removes a small piece of torn cloth from his pocket to hand to Flint.

He watches him wrap it over his wound and tie it against his palm before he willingly holds the dagger out to Silver to form a bridge of shaky trust between them.

“I don’t feel different,” Flint says and Silver hums a laugh.

“You wouldn’t. You’ve not become a darkling simply by pledging your blood to the forest,” Silver replies with the rise of his brow in amusement.

“I will never be one of you,” Flint bluntly states and Silver can feel the sensation of a match striking. His past is a hazy shell but with each crack, he catches glimpses of this man beneath it.

“That is simply your choice,” Silver says and tucks the dagger away.

“And when it isn’t?” Flint snaps and Silver studies the glare Flint has him. He’s associating Silver once again with a monster of his past and he allows it. He has been thought of worse.

“When it isn’t of your choice…then you spend your years roaming the earth until finally finding peace in the quiet woods,” Silver admits on purpose and Flint practically flinches against the information.

Silver remembers his becoming even through the distorted lake of years between it. It is not something he will ever forget or allow himself to. He may be seeking out the quiet but it is not made up of complacency.

“You didn’t choose this,” Flint says with hidden awe.

It isn’t a question from Flint but he recognizes the prodding. Flint wishes to know more and yet Silver can’t fathom why.

“We are all made of shipwrecks are we not?” Silver poses and Flint studies him with an intensity that sets him on edge.

An owl hoots at them from a nearby branch warning them of the coming dawn and Silver begins his stroll down the hill as Flint follows.

He is protected from the sun in this veil but he must maintain a routine and not lose grasp of his own weakness.

Flint catches up with him and asks, “Will you help me lure the men where we need them?”

“I will.”

Silver can say he’s grown a kindness from the solace but that would be impart a lie. This scheme of theirs is thrilling and the first time he’s felt awake in a long while. It frightens him to a degree because of his capabilities if let off a leash but if Flint will allow him to partake in his revenge then he sees no qualms with sharing in the blood.

What bond could this possibly provoke? Is he ready for such a connection?

Those questions plague him as they leave the swamplands and reach his hut.

Silver immediately steps inside, removing his cloak and lying down on his stiff bed. He can hear Flint hesitantly step inside, “the wolf that roams the woods…what do you know of it?”

He listens to his boots scratch against the dead leaves as he closes the door behind him to the silence of the hut. He finds he enjoys Flint’s new curiosity. It isn’t bothersome like most. It lacks pettiness.

“She is the queen of these parts of the forest. She takes a form when walking among men such as yourself but here she is her true self; unburdened. If you are to stay here then you will come to know her as Max,” Silver speaks quietly as he watches the shadows jostle on the ceiling above.

“Then who is Eleanor?” Flint asks unafraid of pestering.

“She is like me, one of the old blood born of spite and her companionship resides with the wolf queen. She is her messenger to others like us,” Silver replies with ease.

Flint fidgets and he suspects he’s finally studying the pieces he’s left of himself in this hut. He runs his fingers over the basket of dried flowers and Silver listens for the crumble of the petals between the pads of Flint’s fingers.

“Correct me if I am wrong but from what I have gathered…someone you cared for was bitten and turned, then something tragic befell them? Something that caused you to lash out and take another life?” Silver dares to push him and waits in the silence for an answer. If it is a knife to his throat again then he’d welcome the shattering of the quiet.

He listens to the boots near him and then Flint is above him like a tower of shadow. He lies there calmly with a trapped grin between his teeth, hesitant to set it free.

“You’re crawling around in my skull,” Flint says darkly and his voice catches in the small space between them.

Silver shifts his head against the pillow and speaks, “you invited me in.”

“I didn’t. I found you there.”

Silver attempts to read his expression but the darkness of the room shields his face from deciphering. Flint is a liar because Silver felt the moment he opened the door at the base of the Merewood and he stepped inside as if he’d always had a key.

“If that’s how you cope with your repressed desires then I will not stop you,” Silver confesses and this time lets the smile loose.

“I don’t require your brand of darkness. I am using this as a necessity,” Flint answers and Silver sighs as he moves his eyes back to the ceiling.

“You’re lying and you wish for me to tell you so. I can tell by the way your heart is hammering against your ribcage,” Silver presses against the taunt invisible bow between them.

He can see Flint bear his teeth in his periphery and his own heart skitters.

“I told you not to do that,” Flint grits.

“And I told you, that it cannot be helped. I can hear your thoughts before you speak them through your heart,” Silver speaks softly and his eyes find that foreboding form.

“I don’t want you in my skull,” Flint snaps loudly and Silver’s breath quickens. He sits up slowly from his bed and Flint remains standing above him looking down. He can see his expression clearer from this angle. He’s a terrified stunning fury.

“I understand your rage. I want to cultivate it. I am not like those others that wish to snuff out the flame. Why take such a thing and cage it?” Silver admits openly and watches Flint’s Adam's apple bob.

“What would you do with it?” Flint asks and Silver realizes he has him but in what capacity?

“I want to hear the roar of it. Let loose on those men out there. Flint has been freed. I want to witness his beginning,” Silver breathes.

He observes Flint’s hands twitch at his sides almost form fists and Silver wonders if Flint wants to touch him. He wonders if he’s fighting against the urge to grasp his throat.

“You’re a dark creature guiding me towards hell…” Flint begins and then halts.

“If you wish this place to be your hell then it will be. As I said, this forest is what we make of it,” Silver replies and eyes Flint above him.

The world beyond this shadow of theirs may view such a pact between them as dangerous, unyielding, unnatural but what Silver sees is an opportunity. He sees a lasting potential and that is the feeling he felt when he first came upon the dying man. The feeling he couldn’t define until now.

“Tomorrow night we will lure the men,” Flint replies and the heated tension snaps like a sheet of thinned ice when Flint turns to walk out of his orbit.

“And we will give their blood to this soil,” Silver continues for him.

He watches Flint’s back once more and the small nod that he affords him.

He wonders what kind of beasts they will be together. He wonders if such a thing could shift the landscape itself; molding it into a new form.

He wonders if Flint will have a blade ready for him after this is done and how Silver will conceal himself against the edge of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is the culmination of this bond and more of Flint's past revealed. I hope you are enjoying it! Thank you :)


	4. The Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning this chapter is a bit violent.

The flames from the hearth whisper a language he’s unable to decipher. He is new to such a place. He’s fallen into the midnight of an abyss and yet he doesn’t wish to crawl out of it. He wants to let the dirt sink from beneath and he wants to be led further into its depths.

He glares into the fire as if it could provide him answers to what kind of thrall he’s in and he wonders if ending this sleeping vampire’s life would snap him from the spiral. Did he wish to stop the descent?

He glances over at Silver’s quiet form resting in his bed with his aversion to sunlight. He looks peaceful and young in sleep. He doesn’t appear the feral beast that the fables spoke of.

In truth, he is staring at a creature that is older than some of the trees growing outside. He wonders what Silver’s rings would tell him of all the lives he’s lived and the people he’s carried with him.

“You’ve captured something from me,” Flint speaks softly because he feels as though his thoughts aren’t his own any longer.

He watches those blue eyes blink awake and he feels altogether shredded by the vulnerability.

“You’ve given it to me,” Silver replies and Flint doesn’t have a response because he has. He has opened up his ribs and given him his trust.

The fire crackles and Silver sits up gracefully from his meager bed as the sun wanes in the background of the open shutters.

“You’ve given Flint a voice all on your own. I am merely aiding you in his development,” Silver continues and Flint keeps his eyes on the flames.

They show him a world beneath this one beyond the root.

Flint steps back and turns to face the creature who stands from the bed, “But what could be born from this hate? The rage?”

He watches Silver’s sly smile grace his face. The one that could cut him open, “I am not a fortune teller but I suspect acceptance of a kind will give it room to flourish.”

“What if it cannot be tamed?” Flint voices his fear. He worries if such an act could open up a new pathway to a fury he’s yet to realize.

“Who said anything about taming? You can fear the primordial but sooner or later we began to see our reflection in its dark,” Silver relays and slips his cloak on with ease. He’s ready to hunt. They both are and yet Flint still doesn’t wish to recognize the divide.

He watches Silver leave him to the silence and the fire burns out of its own accord or by Silver’s will. He doesn’t wish to know.

\--

The husks are easy to push and pull. They are like puppets and Silver sees them as shadows. He whispers in one ear and then his voice travels. It reaches those lighted villages along the hillside and Flint watches as he drags the corpse of the nearest he’s lured. His blood told him his name but he lets it escape his memory.

Flint says nothing of the dead man now lying as bait against the trees.  

“His name is Dufresne. The one who leads these men,” Flint replies softly and Silver squints towards the torches that circle the houses.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Silver asks and he wonders if Flint wants to be the one to kill him. He doesn’t answer at first, no doubt grappling with a sense of wrongness that Silver hasn’t felt since his memory allowed.

“I want you to.”

The words catch Silver off guard and he turns to him shadowed from his cloak. Flint isn’t looking at him, he can’t look at him.

“You want me to kill him for you?” Silver asks and his chest twists.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I need information out of him and I cannot be the one to contend with him because I will end him before vital information is gathered,” Flint replies truthfully.

Silver sighs with disappointment, “you need him alive…”

“Only until we get the information.”

There’s a brief moment of silence that Silver can feel Flint’s eyes snap over him but he doesn’t attempt to meet them. He feels hollowed and carved out by it.

“What information do you need?”

“I want to know if he knows where someone is…” Flint gives him a piece of the puzzle but it isn’t enough for Silver.

“Someone?”

Flint shifts his footing. He can hear the dirt crumble beneath his boot and the hammering of his heart, “someone.”

“Someone important to you. That same someone you mentioned earlier. The one like me,” Silver slides through Flint’s thoughts like a butter knife.

He listens to his boots move away. He’s leaving him in the shadow to head back into the forest. He wonders if the place beyond looks foreign to Flint now. All he sees are shapes without identity.

The puppets will dance to their tune and there is no need to set the stage. There’s a howl far off into the night and the dormant chamber of his heart opens to the stars above. He likes to think that in his youth he was a poet with pretty things to think of and say. Did he send out his messages like birds to the sky as if love can be caught by a net? Did he have a smile for every swoon?

What he does remember out of the blurred years is lying on the wet cobblestone with mud on his cheeks. He remembers the shadow that hovered above him with false concern. He sees the tower that is Flint and then that shadow from his past and recognizes the differences. He sees the line cut between them where a part of himself rests.

There is nothing in that darkness. Nothing beyond which he can feign memory. He can pretend he’s evolved from the saturation of the lies but he is a lie. He once molded himself into an innumerable amount of lives to find out which sparked him. He killed others he thought he could be in another life if this one had afforded him that.

With Flint, it as though he is beginning his history like a brush stroke on a dusty canvas. How does he let himself paint over his skin? Will he dine with him in the quiet dark?

“Your rage is my rage,” he whispers to no one but himself.

He will help him carry it across to someplace better.

He enters the embrace of the woods again and quietly treads on the matted wet leaves. This land is a graveyard and yet he welcomes the ghosts if they choose to greet him. He will not turn them all away.

Flint is sitting against one of the old hollow trees with his back to the bark and looking onward towards the night mist. Silver softly steps beside him but he doesn’t glance up at him.

“His name was….is Thomas Hamilton,” Flint admits calmly but Silver can sense the tension pulled tight over his hunched shoulders.

He politely joins him a moment later and sits across from him in the wet vegetation. Flint blinks at him with quiet surprise and Silver refrains from tossing him a smile in return.

It’s a long moment of shared breathing before Flint continues, “he was turned and instead of slaying him, his father had him imprisoned. He said that we would never see each other again. That the punishment is just.”

Silver can feel the seething fury grasp hold of him like a familiar vise and he asks, “How was he turned?”

“I told you what will be required to know. Nothing more. Think what you will of it but I am not interested in your ponderings.”

Silver knew that was a lie but he let it slip by, “you want to know where he is or if he is alive and you think Dufresne knows?”

“He may know someone that knows. It is a chain that I want to uncover,” Flint supplies and Silver nods in understanding. He doesn’t push the topic further.

If he closes his eyes he can feel the vibrations from beneath. So many hearts in tune and thudding. He could grasp them all in the palm of his hand and squeeze.

“Why…why do you wish to cultivate my rage?” Flint asks curiously quiet and Silver opens his eyes to observe him. He’s watching Silver with something akin to reluctant acceptance.

“You’ve awakened the darkness. The one dormant,” Silver confesses and presses his hand against his chest.

“Then I’ve let a beast loose on the world?” Flint’s eyes darken and he sits back.

“Why did you come here of all places and search for Divinity? Such is all the lies we tell ourselves.”

Flint stands at his words and walks towards the shadow once more as he says, “you’ve trapped me.”

“I have but you wanted to be trapped by it. By me. You still want it,” Silver replies and stands, brushing off the dirt from his cloak.

A shape scurries in the trees and Flint flinches, stepping back into Silver’s space once again. He uses the opportunity with Flint’s back to him in distraction to set his hand lightly on his shoulder.

He expects the violent reaction when Flint turns and grips his neck, slamming him into the hollowed tree behind them. His fingers are loose against his throat however and Silver chuckles low throated with the effort. Flint looks broken and collapsed like a shell cracking inward.

“Tell me why. Why do I not wish to escape you?” Flint questions and he appears plagued by it as if this thought has burrowed inside his skull.

“You are here of your own will. I have no means of controlling your mind,” Silver supplies and swallows against Flint’s fingers.

He sees Flint study his lips and then his throat as if examining marble. Flint is tormented by his attraction to the night.

“I merely want to show you a way through that torment. There is only madness here if you wish there to be,” Silver replies quietly gentle.

Flint steps back releasing him and Silver feels the loss of warmth immediately. He sets his fingers to his throat as he did after the knife to memorize the sensation.

It only takes a moment for the atmosphere to thin and the stench of sweat to drift in amongst the dirt.

“Men are approaching the woods,” Silver relays and Flint’s focus becomes honed once more, setting aside his conflicts racing in his mind.

“How do you know this?”

Silver glances up at the tree beside him to pick out a branch to perch, “I can hear their breathing, feel their imprints on the border of the soil between this world and theirs.”

He promptly begins to climb the tree with quick precision, reveling in the pounding heart behind him as he observes.

\--

Flint suspects the rumors reached drunken ears which is why the sudden approach. He expected them to take a day at least to organize which doesn’t bode well for Dufresne’s presence at this slaughter.

He unsheathes his sword and steps back into the shadows to wait. He peers up at Silver who rests in the crooked branches in the tree in front of him.

A moment later, he spots those terrifying pair of eyes of the queen surveying her domain. A twig snaps and turns her attention to the fools that approach. He suspects there won’t be many but regardless this will get their attention.

Their torches are easily spotted in the dark and Flint counts ten. He suspects that Dufresne is not among them.

He leans into the shadow of the tree and closes his eyes. He attempts to use his other senses and listens for the crack of their feet against the twigs. He listens to the frightened whispers draw nearer to their position. The wolf queen is giving them reign, for now, to lure them properly inward so that there is no possible escape.

“Something afoul here gents,” A whisper is heard harsh and gruff.

He wonders about the moment that he truly faded out into a new existence? When such an impending slaughter left him with nothing more than anticipation. Did he wish to see Silver’s savagery match his own?

Is it even a question any longer?

He thinks he can hear a clock ticking. One from his old home which was bathed in wind and sea. The tick-tock of it rests at the back of his mind in the silence. Even upon smashing the clock itself he still heard it in everything.

_Tick-tock_

This forest is allowing these men to walk along its jaw and was it for them? For him?

A place that welcomes such a rage is foreign to him and yet home all at once.

He spots the torches gather beneath the hollow tree that the creature John Silver resides in and Flint waits patiently with bated breath.

A shadow jumps down like a spider from its web and pounces on one of the men as the crowd of them stand in stalk-still horror at the sound of tearing flesh.

Flint approaches them while their attention is on Silver and slices viciously into the first man facing away.

It is chaos after the initial attack. Some of the men disperse frantically painting the torchlight along the trees and he listens for the low growl before the screams.

Two of the fools lunge at them with their shaky swords and Flint ends the first one immediately, sending him into the dirt gurgling as Silver lifts his head on a breath. His young face is covered in speckled blood and Flint is drenched in it. It collects in his hair, across the bridge of his nose and beneath his hooded eyes.

He has a smile for the man that is dueling him with his poorly forged sword but out of the bushes one of the men who was hiding charges towards Flint. The man doesn’t spot Silver until he pounces violently and tears into his throat. The spray of blood is a fine mist over Flint’s pale skin.  

Silver is exceptionally deadly with his precision and quickness. He would be no match for him in his state but now beneath the moon, they worked as one.

The man he’s dueling slips on the slick mud and falls into a batch of brambles. Flint picks his torch up to dose the flame while pointing his sword at the terrified man beneath him.

“Dufresne didn’t grace us with his presence?” He asks and the man swallows attempting to back up into the bushes. Silver steps up beside him appearing the beast he thought he was.

Blood drips down his mouth to his neck and his blue eyes appear sharper and far more terrifying. The man below whimpers at the sight and Silver smiles showing his teeth, “there are others scattered, finish your questions and I will seek them out.”

Flint’s agreement is his silence and Silver disappears like a shade of night, molding into the rest of the forest as if he was never there to begin with.

\--

The forest is silent this night. It is allowing them to revel and claim. It affords him with an archaic respect. The moon casts an edge to the path like a sword for him in reward.

Silver’s boots softly meet the forest floor as one of the men he’s wounded crawls slowly towards a false safety. He isn’t fond of drawing the process out but this night of all nights he feels a feral bond to fire.

The wilderness of flames is in his heart.

Before the man can turn and plead with him Silver sinks his teeth into the flesh of his neck. The words die in his mouth and the memories he is given glide over his mind like soft linen.

The man he had just fed on was a murderer, he knew it from the bitter taste of his blood. He releases him to be taken by the darklings beneath the soil.

His skin is thrumming, his entire sense of self is forging into a new plane of thought. He remembers things more clearly now about who he was, what he’s done. The blood has given him that. The taste of it is a deadly nostalgia.

He remembers smuggling himself on a ship and abandoning it to port without a single man left alive on board. How had he forgotten that? What he was capable of?

The potential is limitless and yet he understands why he had put himself on a leash. He had set the leash here far away from the Husks as if to reward them for their complacency.

Why should he hide? _When they scurry the earth like rats?_

He shakes his head to toss away the voices of the darkness and swallows against the tightening of his chest.

There’s a yell from behind him. He hadn’t been paying attention. The blood had made him feel intoxicated by it. A sword is plunged into his back and out of his abdomen.

The pain of it is fleeting at best and he turns with it remaining inside of him to face the horrified attacker. The scraggly bearded man begins pleading when he recognizes what Silver is and Silver grips the hilt of the sword behind him with a small smile that never leaves his face. He slowly pulls the sword from his torso and swipes his finger along the blade to taste the blood left behind.

The wound is already healed. His ability to heal amplifies if he’s well fed and this night would mark the best harvest in years.

He uses the sword swiftly to end the frightened foe.

There are two left wandering the woods aimlessly and Silver tilts his head when he hears a scream far off into the trees coupled with the crackling of dirt.

There is _one_ left.

It is on the trail of the last man that Flint finds him again. He’s eyeing him warily as if he sees something else entirely when he meets Silver’s eyes. He sees him unmasked and Flint clenches his jaw against the image.

“You should be the one to end this one. I must not partake anymore,” Silver reigns himself from the edge once again and his heart protests against his ribs.

He can hear scurrying in the bushes and he closes his eyes tight against the exquisite sound of another heartbeat.

“Are you all right?” Flint asks surprisingly concerned.

“I’m fine, he is in the bushes just there,” Silver replies and points to the darkness ahead of them.

He waits on the path glancing out to the eerie shadows of the trees. He is grateful that Flint doesn’t take his time and he listens to the sound of sword cutting flesh then the unceremonious thud.

His hands are trembling. It feels as though he’s been lit up from the inside and the urge to bound towards that town on the hill overtakes him. He’s given himself too much freedom this night and the fresh memories of the past assault his thoughts like knives.

He falls to his knees on the forest floor and presses his palms into the dirt. He claws at the ground beneath him as his own horrors are given voice once again. The voices from the past climb into the shell of his ear to torment.

There’s a hand on his shoulder. Flint’s hand and he blinks at his palms buried in the soil beneath him.

“Has the feeding done something to you?” He asks but it holds no malice.

Silver sits up and looks at the shadow of Flint. His pale skin is reflected in the moonlight like a mirage above him. He wants him to wrap his hand around his throat. He wants Flint to stop him, bring him back to himself.

Silver attempts to speak but he halts himself at the sound of another heartbeat nearing their position. They have missed one.

There is not much he can do to stop himself. The reaction is immediate. He stands, rushing into the direction of the foliage to find the wandering last man before he can scream a protest. He sinks his teeth into his skin, silencing him almost immediately upon contact.

He’ll visit the hamlet that lies nestled against the town and then he will snuff out every torch, every flame.

It’s when he releases his mouth from the man’s neck that the hilt of a sword forcefully meets his skull, knocking him to the dirt and darkness.

\--

In that vague awareness, he hears the crackling of a fire. He feels the soft warmth and smells the familiar scent of Bee balm. When he comes to he realizes that he is home once again.

He remembers the thrall of the blood guiding to continue a rampage he didn’t wish to begin and Flint steps into view. He’s blurry at first but he recognizes it's him by the beat of his heart in his ears. He attempts to move to find that he is tied to the fireplace.

“I’m not sure if—” Flint begins and is interrupted by Silver tearing immediately out of his binds. The rope was no match for him but Silver uses the wall to gain balance when he stands.

Flint has his dagger held out to him, afraid that Silver will attack him. He’s tempted to feel that cold metal rest against his skin once again by will alone.

“I…apologize,” Silver says instead and stumbles slowly over to his bed where sits down on the edge of it.

Flint is still suspicious and keeps the dagger pointed towards him with a squint.

“You were trying to fight it. You…” Flint begins and Silver interrupts once again, “there is a reason I don’t feed often. I give myself meager sustenance otherwise I am clouded with destruction.”

“Why did you allow yourself to partake if you knew the consequences?” Flint snaps and Silver searches his face for answers beyond they share only in words.

“I wanted to know if I was capable of reigning myself back. One must know their limits and I have found mine,” Silver replies and Flint shakes his head at him slowly sheathing the dagger in his belt.

“All that talk of unleashing savagery was merely a manipulation. An experiment. You wanted to see how far you could go and how far I would go,” Flint replies and Silver nods tiredly.

“It seems you are unbothered by the deed which is useful,” Silver manages before he lies down on his bed to stare at the ceiling once more. He feels drained, dried up like a leaf.

“Dufresne resides in that town. He is staying at the Inn from what one of the men told me. I think we should pay him a visit,” Flint adds with confidence and Silver feels a collective twist at the implication of Flint wishing for his aid in this endeavor.

“Even after what you witnessed you still wish for my help?” Silver asks and there is silence. He allows him time to consider.

Flint’s reply is soft and sure, “You aren’t a raving beast. You are attempting control and that is more than I can say for many, including myself.”

Silver turns his head on the pillow to observe him and Flint steps into the light of the fireplace to give him a way to see him.

“You see me then…” Silver weakly says.

“I see you.”

Flint’s tone is immediate and oddly comforting. There’s a new warmth suddenly between them that Silver is unable to navigate but it seems Flint is the one with the upper hand in its imaginings.

“Give me some time to recover and I will go with you,” Silver replies with a nod.

The pact strengthens like vines wrapping around his limbs to hold him steady. He is utterly entrammeled by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silver and Flint hunt Dufresne next! I hope you enjoyed! Thank you :)


	5. Abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of equal footing through acceptance of their dark natures.

_“Are you my shadow?”_

Silver asks his nightmare.

Each night his creator becomes taller like one of those dark trees outside.

 _“Take my hand,”_ The shadow had said and Silver’s mind wasn’t his own when he placed his palm into the cold.

He opens his eyes to the familiar ceiling above him and the years have collected beneath his skin.

When he sits up he spots Flint lying on the rug facing away from him. The fire is burned out. The smoke of it lingers in the moon glow.

He quietly moves towards the fireplace where he grabs the small basket of bones. They’ve rested there in a time before time it seems.

He leaves without his cloak this night, exposed to the elements and the light pattering of rain. He feels as if he deserves the sting of it. The wind isn’t kind, it is chilled and whip-quick across his cheeks.

He nearly lost himself and the trees know it. They witnessed his mistake and how far he nearly pushed himself.

“It won’t happen again,” he says and it’s a weak lie. It will happen again and the darkness acknowledges that already.

He kneels in front of the tall oak tree with its ornaments and rests a skull from the basket at the beginnings of its trunk. There’s nothing to shield him from the gale that dances his hair above his face.

He lifts his head to peer into its dark branches and pleads, “distort the shadow in my mind again. Send the nightmare away.”

He picks a fingerbone out of the basket and draws three lines in the soil with it. One for the past, one for the present and one for the future. He doesn’t know if these lines belong to him or Flint. They’ve become interwoven and he doesn’t know how to release himself from the grip of it.

He has yet to feel irrevocably enamored by another from any memory of his. He doesn’t quite understand the bond they’ve formed.

He recognizes that Flint is battling with the same questions as him. His heart tells him so and yet he still carries Thomas Hamilton inside those chambers. It is as if Silver is slowly filling another role but not to replace.

His hair is soaked and plastered to his face but the cold has no effect on him.

“Begging the roots for a reprieve,” the soft amused voice speaks from behind him. Silver stands from the mud and turns to face Eleanor who stands against the windy rain effortlessly. Her red hooded cloak shadows half her face from his view.

“Would you be willing to scout the Moorwood Inn in the village for a man named Dufresne?” Silver requests and he watches her smile form.

“Afraid to enter the town after your rampage? It will cost you.”

Silver needs at least another day to recover to get his thoughts in order and then he will have the strength to face those heartbeats. 

“I will bring you blood,” Silver replies with a nod in understanding.

“Fresh. I haven’t forgotten when you tried to trade me day old rats blood,” Eleanor reminds him and Silver has a tired smile for her this time in reply.

The mist is settling in around them, creeping in a slow crawl and he holds out his hand for them to shake on it. There’s a reluctance that can’t be soothed between them. It never has been but Silver leaves to head back to his hut without a word.

Flint is standing outside of it blinking blurry eyed at him in the drizzle.

“Another offering?” He asks and he doesn’t appear to be judging him. He’s searching Silver’s eyes for something he doesn’t have the proper answer for.

“Eleanor will survey the area and report back,” Silver replies and feels the disoriented delirium resting at the edges of his shoulders. The urge to bound towards the town is still fresh.

 “Are you alright?” Flint asks and Silver listens to the quick heartbeat in front of him.

“You’re concerned about me?” The smile stretches his lips as if it could somehow crumble his face. He feels the dreaded chill of that memory lurking beneath him.

“I heard you speak in your sleep,” Flint says quietly and the gloomy expression he gives him makes Silver move towards the door.

“I couldn’t decipher your words but you seemed…unsettled,” Flint continues and Silver opens the door into the hut. Inside, he bends down beside the burned out fire which he needs to resurrect back to life. He needs to look into its shapes it provides for something beyond the here and now.

He sparks the flames and watches them consume.

“Whatever made you who you are, you’ve not succumbed to it,” Flint speaks from behind him and Silver turns to meet his eyes. He notes the thudding beat that heightens from the act.

“I have…many times. You’ve no idea.” Silver admits and Flint doesn’t appear fazed by this revelation.

“You are here now like a prisoner. I see your chains,” Flint dares to reply and Silver shakes his head.

“This is not a prison.”

“It is your punishment.”

They breathe in the silence between words that never leave the cage of their mouths. There’s something forming between them. It’s more than a bridge.

That silence remains like a shadow in the corner.

Perhaps this is Silver’s punishment but he deserves nothing less and yet there is a stillness here that gives him peace. There is peace in his obedience to the woods.

\--

The moonlight always finds a way beyond the veil of clouds in its path and Flint peeks out of the doorway to watch Silver gift the wolf queen an offering of meat.

He watches the way he kneels with ease and the trust he places in her when he bows his head. She affords him with careful respect.

His curiosity has grown exponentially and he isn’t even attempting to hide it any longer. There isn’t much he can hide from this vampire but more importantly the _will_ to hide himself is slowly disappearing.

This creature speaks to him in movement and breath. Words merely confirm the dance. He doesn’t know how to define his fascination. The terrifying truth of it is that it doesn’t appear to be temporary like he thought.

He steps back towards the safe confines away from the door and eats a berry from a pile of them in a bowl. He imagines blood. Blood between his teeth and on his tongue. He imagines the need and the corruption that he witnessed Silver fight against.

He imagines a Silver that embraces the corruption. The one he alludes to from the past. What kind of destruction would be wrought if Flint were to release his fury as well?

They could devour the land.

His thoughts scatter when the door opens and he listens to Silver step inside the hut.

“He is at the Moorwood Inn with a few of his men. They’ve instilled a panic in the town from the missing group and now the others are on their guard but that could not be helped.”

He doesn’t answer for a moment and eats another berry from the bowl. He listens to the soft movement of fabric and a tender breath before he turns to face him.

Silver is standing in the middle of the room looking paler in the light and his blue eyes stand out like the shining sea.

“Get some more rest before the next night and we will be rid of them all,” Flint encourages and receives a smile from Silver.

He wonders then when he began searching for that reaction. When he began counting on it. He’s given too much time with his thoughts and they tend to stick inside him longer in this new silence between them.

The next day brings rain and with it a small moment of rest. He dreams of blood falling and seeping through the cracks within the hut. He dreams of nearly drowning in it but there is nothing but a pure contentment.

When he wakes he sits sweaty against the wall and wonders what the offering he gave the tree really took from him. His sense of self-awareness is waning as he listens to the crack of thunder.

He feels nothing for those men they slaughtered in the woods. The only guilt he harbors is for how he viewed Thomas after his attack.

He looks at Silver sleeping in the shadow away from the light and he thinks of Thomas’ accepting face as he was taken away from him. He had told Flint: ‘Don’t be afraid’. He hears those words clearly in Thomas’ voice within the raindrops as if the sky is reminding him of his guilt.

The beginning of the next night finds them quickly without remorse but Silver makes no note of his discomfort even though Flint can see it behind his eyes.

He gives Flint another cloak to sport that is dark green and dusty with age. The pair of them leave the hut for the forest to wrap its branches around.

The moon is more than generous with the light and it guides them forward through the dark until they reach the edge of the line of tall skeletal trees.

Silver stops at the border and Flint waits there beside him, “are you ready?”

It snaps Silver out of his trance of glaring at the lights within the dark hill.

“I will not partake in any blood this night but I will kill as needed,” Silver speaks and steps forward as Flint watches him disappear into the shadows ahead like a phantom.

\--

The town is a small feeble attempt at civilized society but most of the husks here are wild men that don’t conform to the order of things. It’s always been the same.

The dark thatched roofs appear rotted and grey beside the torchlight that mars the edges like burn marks.

A small carriage passes them by in the mud and Silver eyes Flint who keeps his head down from any curious eyes. Their feet are in tandem soaking up the mud and rainwater.

He halts at the front of the Inn that waits with its swinging wooden sign bathed in the flickering dim light. There is no turning back but it is a comforting realization.

Silver has lived too far removed and although he has not forgotten the cruelty the townsfolk provide he has become apathetic to his past plight. He can’t forget the agony in its aimlessness.

Flint waits in the alley while Silver steps inside to pay for a room. He uses this moment to survey the tavern inside filled with drunken men who shout into their very own voids.

The innkeeper is an older woman with braided white hair resting over her shoulder but she’s wary of Silver; of new people. He can tell by the way she squints at him and her elevated heartbeat collecting in his ears.

“A room?” She asks and sets down an empty mug.

“Yes. One.”

He rests a few coin on the counter and she sweeps it up in her palms with a nod towards the stairs without inviting further topics of conversation.

Up the stairs and in the plain small room with one bed, he spots the window. He shuts the door behind him and pushes the latch off to pull it free. The wind carried around the hill whips inside and he peeks down below into the alley where Flint catches his eye.

It’s only a moment later that Silver is watching Flint climb inside much more graceful than he had expected.

“I didn’t see a man that you described downstairs. So, I suspect he is in his room.”

Silver observes Flint study him in quiet contemplation for a moment before he nods.

Out in the hall they spy in two rooms before they find one that is occupied by two sleeping men, each in their own bed against the sides of the narrow wall.

Seeing the recognition in Flint’s dark expression is all that Silver needs to hit the man sleeping in the bed on the left on the head with the hilt of his dagger. His small round glasses rest on the table and Silver pockets them while listening to the gurgling death of the other man in the bed behind him.

Flint wipes his blade on the sheet and they carry Dufresne to a wooden chair against the wall where they produce the wet rope they brought. Silver feels Flint’s eyes on him as he ties Dufresne’s wrists.

“When we’ve gotten what we need I want you to do it,” Flint adds and Silver stands upright admiring his knotwork.

“May I ask why?” Silver turns his attention to Flint who refuses to remove the hood from his head.

The truth of his statement uncoils the tension in Silver’s ribs, “because I want to see my fury through you. I want to observe it.”

\--

It’s an hour of waiting and another man is slain who attempted to request Dufresne’s presence. Now there are two bodies lying beside beds.

Flint chose not to feel anything for them. They are part of the problem that blackened the landscape. They are like the men that took Thomas away.

They are undeserving of his pity for the little he had left to give to this world.

Flint observes lightning flash from outside of the window in the room, lighting up Silver’s form like a cat leaning against the bedpost.

He hears Dufresne begin his struggle with the rope and for a moment thinks of himself tied up in Silver’s hut like a wild animal. The beginning of a path.

“What is this?” Dufresne breathes and squints at them. Silver slips the round glasses over Dufresne’s face and he looks more like the man he once knew. Flint keeps silent from the back with the hood hiding his face from view as Dufresne looks them both over.

“Now, you can scream if you wish but…” Silver points to the two dead men on the floor and shrugs, “although, I do imagine you are the attention seeking kind.”

“Who are you?” Dufresne asks and he appears perturbed but disturbingly calm. He keeps switching his attention between the two of them in the hopes Flint will reveal himself.

“My name is John Silver and if you’ll indulge me—”

Dufresne interrupts, “who is he?”

Silver turns to look back at Flint and sighs, “we were hoping you’d know where a man named Thomas Hamilton resides.”

A vicious smile grows on Dufresne’s face and he keeps his eyes on Flint, “it’s you isn’t it.”

“Thomas Hamilton, Mr. Dufresne…do you—”

Dufresne interrupts Silver once again, “the murderer found another scoundrel to do his bidding.”

Flint remains silent and observes Silver’s patience wear thin. He stands up straight and steps in front of Dufresne to block his eyeline from Flint.

“Interrupt me again and I won’t need a knife to tear you apart,” Silver provokes and Dufresne’s attention shifts to Silver once again.

There’s a fear behind Dufresne’s bravado but he maintains his false stoicism.

“Thomas Hamilton..” Dufresne mocks and Flint clenches his jaw, “he’s far away.”

“Where is ‘far away’ exactly?” Silver questions.

“You’re to kill me then?” Dufresne attempts to glance at Flint but Silver steps in his way again.

“Not if you cooperate,” Silver lies but he recognizes that Dufresne has the average intellect to understand this.

“He’s in the dark, in a hole where they keep monsters like him. It’s crueler than death I would say.”

Flint speaks up with a snarl, “Where is it? Where is he?”

Silver steps out of his way and Dufresne’s smile grows on his face again. The cruelty is familiar. It feeds the fury like a building fire. The thrumming beginning in his blood is an answer.

“He will rot away there for whatever eternity awaits him.”

“Then you will rot here,” Flint’s words lash and Dufresne pulls uselessly at the rope in a pathetic attempt.

He remembers that same smug face with that plastered smile when they took him away while Alfred Hamilton looked onward.

_‘Don’t be afraid.’_

His voice. Forever in repetition.

The primordial fury that Flint burned beneath his skin boils to the surface and he’s missed the edge of it. He misses being lit up. The way he burned when he cut down Alfred Hamilton swiftly, cruelly.

He would make himself into his very own sword.

“He will die in the dark!” Dufresne’s words are loud and Flint lets him scream. Silver glances between the two of them sensing his reasoning.

“His men will hear him,” Silver grits and Flint keeps his eyes locked onto the desperation evident in Dufresne’s demeanor.

“Let them come.”

He tears at his ropes with a curse and Flint feels the cold chill of a promise with the sound of boots on the stairs.

Dufresne isn’t going to tell him what he needs to know but the description is more than enough. He would lift every blanket of soil and uncover every scream.

“He’s useless to us now,” Flint supplies signaling Silver as the banging on the door begins.

Silver unsheathes his dagger and Dufresne cries, “you will never—”

The dagger slices forward ending his words mid-sentence and Flint watches the blood seep from his throat. Silver removes a vial from around his neck and collects some of it inside.

The door bursts open and Flint calmly grips the hilt of his sword.

\--

It’s a massacre.

The two of them work shoulder to shoulder in the small enclosed room slicing into the husks like a line waiting for slaughter. They work their way into the hallway as Flint cuts down a towns guard racing up the stairs.

This village is on alert and Silver can feel the first sign of day kiss the back of his neck like a warning; raising the hairs. They cut their way through the tavern leaving the dead to thud at their feet.

Silver can hear their heartbeats cease and such an act intoxicates his senses.

He can’t feed, not now. Not like this. Not when Flint’s fury has finally been unleashed.

He can hear the erratic heartbeat of the Innkeeper hiding behind the counter but no more.

They stand covered in speckled blood like canvas’ and Flint heads for the door. He shoves it open and they burst out into the wind swirling through them from the leftover rainstorm.

Silver can see the tint of the sky lighten and his breath grows heavy. The sun is coming.

Another guard challenges them and Flint quickly dispatches him sending him onto the gravel.

The sounds become muffled and his awareness is snapping. His skin is heated, he feels the kindling flame.

“The sun…” Silver calls breathlessly and Flint’s maddening vicious snarl begins to tame as he looks towards the changing sky.  

It’s sapping his energy, stealing the vitality from his fingers.

“To the woods!” Flint yells and cuts down another man that wishes to challenge them. They veer over the hill and nearly tumble down the incline of it.

Silver is nearly losing his footing. The shadows are a blur to him. His skin feels tight against his ribs.

Flint’s arm wraps around his shoulders to speed him along towards the line of dark trees calling him home once again.

The sun is touching the horizon and he’s burning, he feels the slow immolation from the inside. He leans against Flint’s shoulder who tosses his attention behind towards the coming morning.

His hand on Flint’s back is burning. He can feel the sizzle and he releases a cry as they topple inside the shadowed tree line.

They roll onto the soil into the dark canopy clinging to the air around them.

Silver grips onto the material of Flint’s cloak as he slides in the dirt. He lifts his hand shakily observing the burn mark raising his skin.

They lie there for some time gathering their strength in the darkness.

“Are you—” Flint begins.

“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry we didn’t uncover where Thomas is,” Silver interrupts with a reply and forces himself to sit up as he peers over at Flint mirroring his movements.

“We did. Dufresne gave it away. _A hole in the dark._ I know the place. Far from here but I know of it,” Flint replies with a nod and confidently stands. He holds out his hand to Silver and he’s tempted not to take it but he places his palm in his despite the reluctance. Their pact has strengthened through blood.

When Silver stands from the soil their faces are inches apart. He can see the blown pupils of Flint’s eyes and the blood that covers them both. It’s in his hair, in his eyelashes, and across his freckled cheeks.

“Are you to go then?” Silver whispers and the air is trapped in his lungs.

His skin still feels alight with the burn and as Flint leans forward he breathes him in. Silver rests his hand over Flint’s heart because he wishes to feel it rather than spy on it.

“Will you come with me?” Flint attempts to hide his hopefulness but Silver sees it plainly.

He has a smile for him but he doesn’t answer. Flint takes the opportunity to press himself forward, to connect his lips to Silver’s and taste the stretch of his lips.

The kiss isn’t a collapsing gentle wave, it roughens like a storm tide with the slide of Flint’s tongue and their bodies connect from the pull of it.

Silver is exposed all at once like an open wound and he can taste the remnants of blood on Flint’s lips.

He steps back breaking the connection as Flint wobbles from light-headed disorientation.

“You must make another offering to the oak if you wish to leave,” Silver rasps and walks on into the darkness.

\--

The small amount of light gives the illusion of sunlight as if he is peering through a cracked door to the morning.

Flint steps through the foliage slowly, letting Silver set his pace ahead of him. He’s lost in his own thoughts like strings pulled loose and tossed aside.

He _needs_ Silver to help him find Thomas.

He doesn’t know when the thread was burned to their skin between them but he feels the tug of it. He feels it pull him to that hut once again.

He steps through the mist and doesn’t bother to knock. Silver is standing by his bed and he eyes him with a glare at his entrance.

“You will come with me,” Flint commands and Silver huffs a bitter laugh.

“Is that so?”

“Yes, it is so.”

It’s Silver’s turn to lash out as he steps comfortably into Flint’s space, “I cannot leave this forest. As you said it is my prison, my punishment, my home.”

“You held yourself back in the town, you could have torn them all apart but you didn’t partake in the blood. Is that what you worry over? The guilt of a past long ago?”

Flint’s heart swoops in his chest as Silver’s face grows nearer to his with anger sparking those eyes.

“I am a burden. I will not be able to travel in the day, I will need sustenance.”

“Traveling in darkness is the better approach and as you need to feed, I will not object to sating the rage. I feel as though…” Flint stops himself and Silver’s expression softens.

“I owe you nothing after all that I’ve done. I am not a hired hand,” Silver supplies and Flint studies his face.

“I cannot do this without you.”

The words leave him like a weight and he passes the burden of such a confession to Silver, to let him carry it.

They haven’t known each other long but the intensity of such a likeness has never been known to him beyond Thomas. He doesn’t wish to be free of it.

“I am this forest,” Silver whispers.

“You torment yourself with things that cannot change.”

Flint is quick with his wording and he watches Silver’s anger evolve into something unreadable. He wishes he could hear his heartbeat.

He wonders what his is telling Silver now.

Flint continues, “this place may have helped you find a purpose but is it truly meant to be your end?”

“I don’t have an end unless I walk out into the sunlight,” Silver replies.

“There is a deeper dark beyond the safe fold of these trees. I know its presence well. Do you wish to discover something beyond the repetition?” Flint feels let loose. He is not tethered to an order. He wants to paint the dark over the world like a blanket of midnight.

“I will lose myself,” Silver’s brows knit together as if he is unable to convince himself.

“If you do then I will be there but I truly believe you must have more faith in yourself,” Flint adds with a kindness he hadn’t realized he still harbored.

“What about Thomas…why bother with me?”

Flint leans in to test the boundaries, “Thomas and I once had another. Her name was Miranda. It spurred the chain of events that led to Thomas’ turning in the first place.”

“What happened to her?” Silver dares to ask and Flint fights the urge to run. He fights the urge to burst from this hut away from _those_ knowing eyes.

“She was taken…by one of your kind. It sent us into a spiral. Thomas' efforts to find her resulted in his turning and I couldn’t…accept that. I didn’t wish to. Not then,” Flint admits.

“And now?” Silver tilts his head enraptured.

“I see I was mistaken. You are not a demon come for my soul.”

“It depends on perspective,” Silver retorts and Flint’s lips tug into a small smile.

It’s Silver who steps forward slicing through the thin barrier between them and claiming Flint’s lips once again.

The taste that Silver provokes from his tongue is altogether bewitching and when he grips on Flint’s shirt to fist the material he moves forward to back them into the wall beside the fireplace. It knocks over a basket of herbs and his limbs feel shakily disconnected. His palms grasp Silver’s face and the coolness of his skin is inviting to the furnace of his fingers.  

Their lips break apart in breathless regard as Silver says, “I believe that you are the stealer of souls.”

He runs his thumb over Silver’s throat and presses it into the tender skin above his Adam’s apple.

“Will you join me?” Flint asks with finality. It is not his choice to make, it never was. He will not push this any further.

“I would like to believe in this darkness,” beneath a crumbling wall of self-doubt, Flint sees a flicker of reverence.

“Do you accept?” Flint asks as a fiend would but he will claim what he is allowed to claim if Silver allows him that.

“I do.”

The light of the dimmed day fades as if such a pact could bring a forever night. Flint accepts the death of the sun from his future.

Silver’s smile is like the moon and when Flint presses his mouth to Silver’s throat with the promise of blood, he plants the ember of himself within the abyss of ice before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of Part One! I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts if you did :) 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr @brassfannibal for more piratey things and fic updates.


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